


Naked Sundays

by kinpika



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - College/University, Developing Relationship, Fake Dating, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mixed feelings, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Rating May Change, Relationship Problems, Self-Esteem Issues
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-09
Updated: 2018-06-18
Packaged: 2018-09-23 02:57:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 14,217
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9637892
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kinpika/pseuds/kinpika
Summary: There is always an advertisement in the halls, one that people don't normally apply to. Which is totally normal, because who wants to be picked apart by other students right? Especially for:PAID RESEARCH OPPORTUNITYRomantic Couples StudyYou and your partnerare eligible to participate if you:• Are in a committed, monogamous romantic relationship• Have been dating for at least six months• Are currently living together• Are both over the age of 18One out of four isn't bad, right? Right.





	1. Day 129

Five twenty-eight in the afternoon, and Keith doesn’t know if there’s a word he can honestly slap onto his feelings. To be fair, his ass had not managed to get into gear — especially not since last night. Keith had to consider how his nerves were shot to all hell, of course, with at least an hour of keeping his eyes closed to count for sleep, too. Surely, there was a book, or forum, or a _podcast_ out there that could offer some form of advice.

But alas, no, Keith had already exhausted all those forms of self-help, and was still stuck in the waiting room. Third floor of the Department of Psychology at his university, seat to the right of the door, like he had done so for the past few months. Every so often other students walked past, one or two looking at him with that _look_ and a whisper. Thankfully, people seemed to give him a wide berth, and Keith wasn’t looking for a conversation anyway.

Instead, he decided his watch was not his best friend anymore. Not when it told him, point blank, that only a minute had passed. Just one _whole_ minute of him sitting outside the door, furiously tapping at his knees and hoping that Shiro would turn up. 

(He would, right? No, not after last night. But that was yesterday, surely he will. Doubt it.)

Rubbing at his eyes, Keith could only sigh. Sixty more seconds until he had to explain that, oh, his partner had decided to skip the session today. He wasn’t feeling like this either, considering he was fairly sure he had broken some part of Shiro’s psyche, and a few other places in his body Keith didn’t have the mental capacity to consider right now. Not like he meant to, but just rolling those words around in his head made him feel a little more like shit that he already did.

With a push, Keith got to his feet. Hands on hips, he stared at the floor like it might give him the answers to the universe (or at least an excuse to get out of this situation), when the door opens. “Keith and Shiro? We’re ready for you.”

Still ajar, Keith could hear voices, something about notes and last session next week and how payments were due for students. Only the other week had they laughed over the ridiculous situation they were in. Went into this smiling and acting like they had the biggest secret in the world, just the two of them. Keith wasn’t sure where it all went wrong, but last night definitely helped, and he reaches for the door. Might as well get it over with.

And then, a hand shoots out from the side. Of course he sees it, but Keith won’t lie that it caught him completely off guard too. The door slams shut, hand not retracting. It takes a lot for Keith not to close his eyes, as he _knows_ that hand. Knows exactly what kind of arm it will lead to, and whose shoulder it would extend from. Just the face at the other end probably didn’t want to see him right now, and Keith had about two hands worth of reasons why.

“You made it,” is what he says instead. Keith can’t help it, because despite everything, he was relieved. So goddamn _relieved_ that Shiro had turned up, when Keith would have totally understood if he didn’t. Even if Shiro’s face didn’t look happy to see him, Keith couldn’t stop the way his stomach got caught in his throat and his eyes went kind of blurry, and how he was _happy_. Maybe that was the worst part about this situation. 

Shiro actually managed to look something other than infectious happiness, which was a feat in itself. His face was twisted into something that just screamed _definitely irritated!,_ and Keith knew he deserved it wholly. “I said I’d finish this.” Well, yeah, Keith knew he had said that. But he still hadn’t expected Shiro to put on his nice shoes and jacket and turn up. Even a man who kept his word when it was pouring still probably wouldn’t have shown up after something like that. Maybe all his friends were right, and Shiro was secretly some kind of advanced AI. Maybe this was all a joke and cameras were going to jump out any second. Or just _maybe_ , it’s actually twenty years in the future and he’s just about ready to come out of his coma. 

All of those situations were starting to look really good right about now.

“Okay. I’m sorry.” Again, he has to say it again. Like his mouth is on autopilot, the moment he sees Shiro, they are the first words out. Keith doesn’t want to count just how many text messages and voicemails he had left since three that morning, but he knew it was more than any number of fingers or toes he had. At least both of Shiro’s hands and maybe at least two toes as well. That sounded about right. “I’m so sorry, Shiro.”

Nothing more, just Shiro turning the handle, opening the door. A switch flicks on his face, and he’s smiling and greeting the people insisting on studying bullshit like ‘romantic couples’. God, Keith didn’t understand how Shiro was able to just push what happened last night aside like it had no bearing on anything. Especially when Keith was struggling to smile, despite the arm around his shoulders.

“He’s a little under the weather, sorry,” Shiro offers, and Keith can only let the corners of his mouth pop up for at least half a second (hey, new record!) before he settles in the chairs.

Same questions. ‘How are you today?’ followed with a ‘any changes to your relationship?’ — simple stuff that Keith had learned to answer reflexively by now. No, I’m fine, he says, nothing has changed at all. 

Shiro doesn’t hold his hand, this time.

Like always, Shiro answers for them. Keith can see the way one of the newer interviewers looks between them at this, and he wants to interrupt the question before it hits them _again_. When one of the interviewers suggested power play as being a reason, simply based on personal relations, Shiro hadn’t stopped laughing for a week. Looking down at his feet, Keith has to smile at that, despite himself. Yeah, that had been pretty funny then.

Conveniently, his mind reminds him that that was _then,_ not the here and _now_ , with everything going on as it was. Hell, that was only something that happened not even two months ago, before everything got cranked up to a hundred real fast. Too fast, in the ‘it wasn’t supposed to be this real’ kind of fast, where he met parents, friends, had Wednesday specials at the local grill and Saturday nights melding into Sunday mornings, just the two of them together. 

Keith didn’t know where he stood with Shiro. It wasn’t his fault, right?

“So, Keith, will anything change when Shiro graduates?”

It takes everything not to say that they were supposed to be done with this, once they had enough money, because Shiro didn’t need it anymore. On the tip of his tongue, he just wants to tell them that they’d probably never talk to each other again, return to their original lives. Nothing out of the ordinary.

Instead, Keith says: “I expect him to contribute more to the bills,” which earns him laughter, tapping of screens, pens scratching paper. Fill in the blank sort of responses, very vague. Nothing is wrong here, he tries to convey. They still don’t hold hands, but Shiro is staring at the clock opposite them, arms crossed behind his head. 

Just as one of the interviewers opens their mouth, Shiro cuts in. “Do you mind if we wrap this one up quickly, sorry, I’ve got to meet a professor soon.”

“That’s fine! Just a few more questions…”

They answer quickly, not dropping too much. Don’t bring up last night, Keith prays, no one bring up the party last night. No one has to know what happened. That way he and Shiro can just walk right out of this building and head towards the apartments on the opposite side of the campus and just pretend like nothing—

“Did you go to the bonfire last night?”

Keith was ninety-five percent sure the room froze over. Out the corner of his eye, he could see Shiro practically twitching at the question. “No,” he says, cutting in before Shiro could say something that would out them both for being imposters. “I was pretty bad last night. Told Shiro to go but we stayed at home and just watched movies all night.”

“Do anything different?”

Another look at Shiro, just to make sure he wasn’t going to snap at any point. Nope, just blankly staring at the clock now. “No. Bad movies and takeout. The usual.”

“I see…”

More notes, and whilst Keith wanted to honestly know what they were finding so interesting about some offhanded comment, he doesn’t get a chance to ask. Shiro pushes himself to his feet, hand on the back of his neck and an apologetic smile on his face. “Sorry, I just realised what the time was. I really have to get going…”

He doesn’t wait for a response, just grabbing Keith’s arm and dragging him behind him. Keith, for his part, waves and tries to smile, but he has to notice on just how hard Shiro was gripping him, and how his arm threatened to remove itself from its socket very soon. “Shiro, you’re hurting me.”

Shiro comes back to reality, but he’s not with it. “Sorry.” Forced, Keith notes, and massages his arm, sure that he was somewhat bruised. Whatever, no one would see it. Doesn’t matter.

“Shiro, can we talk?”

Another snap-to-it reaction, where Shiro just lets out a whoosh of air through his nose and turns around, practically a human storm. Several students scamper out of his way, and Keith just chases after him — what else was he supposed to do? “Shiro, wait, slow down.”

Nothing in response. Shiro was the brick wall that spoke back, usually, maybe when he wasn’t angry and potentially heartbroken and embarrassed. Keith didn’t want to admit just how Shiro was feeling because it meant that he was admitting to every tiny detail, not just from the night before. Reflex responses to keeping people away, that’s what they called it, right? Shit, Keith didn’t know. All he knew was that he wanted Shiro to stop _fucking_ running away.

Striding ahead, Shiro doesn’t stop when Keith calls his name six times. His walk is the one of man hurt, and Keith just wants to beg at his feet, if it would get him to slow down, even a little. Instead, he opens his mouth once more. Not his name, but just an honest question:

“Did you… did you want to breakup?”

Shiro stops abruptly, Keith falling short a few steps, not expecting such a reaction. Whilst he can’t see his face, Keith just sees the way Shiro seems to expand, arms raised enough to show he had formed fists. Presses his hands against what Keith assumes was his eyes, before he turns. Just from how his face twisted, Keith should’ve been more prepared for what came next.

“We were never dating in the first place, _remember_?”

But he wasn’t, and the words sting in a way he knew he wouldn’t ever understand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sry I'm just slapping up tags for now and this is shorter than i normally get but i can only cram so much in to suggest theyre not in a good place rn until the next chap so  
> pls look forward to it


	2. Day 1

_Then..._

Shiro’s mornings start with a very deliberate routine.

A five am wake up, although nowadays out of simple habit rather than alarms. Five thirty is the run around the block — that generally winds up happening eight minutes late because he’s fallen back asleep. Shower, breakfast, clothes, although not always necessarily in that order. Towel drying his hair, because he never fails to hear his mother’s voice in the back of his head, and Shiro is locking up behind himself, apple firmly between his teeth and yesterday’s leftovers in his bag.

Taking the stairs two at a time, Shiro has to be somewhat proud of himself that he’s always managed to not make that much of a _thud_ on his way down. Especially not so early in the morning, except he _knows_ that half the building is already up at this time, doing last minute assignments or just crawling in. Definitely a downside to studying that everyone seemed to joke about, only to cry over in a bar on the weekend, essay due in three hours.

As Shiro fishes his mail key out from the mass of others he has, he smiles a little. Not a bad day so far. If anything, he was only slightly upset that he hadn’t run into the resident nuns, and missed any sightings of the peacock that roamed the neighbourhood. Well, it was only getting on to seven, anyway, still a good few hours until everything went to shit. 

Letters from his sisters and parents. Another bill, subscriptions, junk. It all winds up in his bag — care only given to the ones at the top, marked with **JAPAN** in big, bold letters. Those ones Shiro would read after his second lesson for the day, to remind himself that he couldn’t go home. Not just yet, anyway. A few more months left, and then he’d work, pay back his parents, probably grovel to his dad for a while just because he could, and be at the mercy of his sisters once more. Maybe even spend some time his younger brother for the first time in a long time. Shiro snorts. Yeah, sounds perfect.

And then he jumps, when the box next to his slams open.

Shiro knows it looks really bad how he jumps every goddamn morning, but he couldn’t help it. His neighbour was a guy who had only moved in about a year prior, kept to himself. Shiro was eighty percent sure he’d actually tutored the guy at one point too, but that was just up in the air. “Morning,” is what he says, and no one could say that Shiro’s mother raised him to be impolite. 

All he gets is a grunt for his efforts, but that wasn’t different from any other day. Hood pulled low, Shiro still couldn’t make out much for features apart from (likely) two eyes, nose, mouth. Whatever. With a shrug, he closes his box, and moves on, not bothering to look back. At least he _tries_ , right? Shiro was sure that alone deserved a round of applause — and so early in the morning! Double the effort put in to be cheery at this time.

Shiro was sure he’s falling into just being outright snarky, and flicks the latch on the gate that lead to the bikes. That didn’t matter when he had time for a slower ride, and really, that’s what it was all about. Double check that his essay was still safely in his bag, no noticeable tear stains or coffee rings or creases for that matter, and Shiro was off.

Living just a bit further away from campus meant that travel was shit, but he had a room to himself. Shiro had done the shared housing gig since he’d moved from Japan, going on nearly ten years now. There was only so much sharing of space, especially now that he was encroaching on an acceptable adult age. Responsibility liked to remind he would have to do it eventually, and finding where he was made his life a little easier, no matter how strange the other residents were.

Rent was paid cash-in-hand, always with a little nod. No communal bathrooms, a letterbox _with_ a lock, and a shared parking lot — but Shiro hadn’t seen an actual car occupy that space in nearly two years now. There was a caravan, if that counted, and Shiro was sixty percent sure that it was either fortune tellers or drug dealers living in there. He always managed to psych himself out before sticking his head through the door. All amenities provided, save for the bed he had to burn when he first moved in. Pretty easy to handle, and Shiro wasn’t one to complain (he thought so, anyway, and that’s all that mattered).

Most of the other residents kept to themselves too, which was always a bonus. Shiro never found himself starved for communication there anyway, especially now that he was so close to falling over the graduation line. When he had to go back to base after completing his studies, Shiro was sure he would be smothered and was taking full advantage of being alone. Like right at that moment, as he rode down the street, watching cars pull up alongside other apartment blocks and people play carpool. Nope, definitely better where he was.

Flicking up his wrist to look at his watch, Shiro did have to use his fingers to count how long until his lesson. In theory, he would’ve had enough time to swing by one of the student discount cafes, but that was _in theory_. Reality would kick his ass for getting caffeine, there was no doubt about it.

Shiro didn’t have that strong of a will to deny coffee anyway.

The line was too long and the coffee was too hot. But Shiro knew he deserved such things in its entirety, spending the rest of the ride to his campus carefully balancing his coffee on the handlebars and wobbling for a few good metres. He would’ve yelled worth it, maybe (definitely), had it not been for nearly running into the side of a car.

To be fair, Shiro hadn’t quite expected to almost get swiped under the wheels of a four wheel drive. Most students in the area walked or rode a bike. Petrol prices were on the rise, and it wasn’t like housing wasn’t possible either. Considering this was part military base part high education, it was almost unreal to see anything that had four wheels and was commandeered by a high ranking officer.

For his part though, Shiro just glares through the tinted windows and moves on towards the back of his building. Locks his bike up, wishes he got the licence plate number, marches in with his now slightly cold coffee. This was not turning out to be a normal day, and Shiro tried not to think on it so much. There was only so much change to his routine he could handle, and almost dying was not included in that.

(At least, not by a car. _Education_ would get to him first, most definitely)

When he finally crawls into the back of one of his lectures, Shiro is absolute certain his lecturer just gave him the stink eye. That was fine, as Shiro was one of twenty people in the hall anyway, which was supposed to be filled with a hundred students in their last year. He had a feeling he knew where at least half were, and maybe where the other quarter was too, but at least five were unknown. Shiro could pride himself on being the adult in this situation, and having skipped the previous night’s party, in favour actually doing his essay, no matter how many updates he received during the few hours the party had really kicked on for.

And, well, Shiro was also sure that he saw parts of some people that he wasn’t supposed to see (or maybe he was), and he wasn’t quite sure what happened or when he was invited into that sort of thing. But his brain still hadn’t quite woken up at that point, and he had only opened one photo up, bleary-eyed, around four in the morning, to answer with an ‘k’, before falling back asleep.

Chin in hand, he could already feel himself progressing through the four stages of morning classes. Too tired to really absorb the words, but alert just in case he was called on in class. That slight place between stage two and three — just as the desk started to look comfortable. Shiro stifles a yawn, and notes a friend in the seat ahead. Already dead at the desk, and Shiro grins as he kicks the back of the chair.

A chain reaction starts, Matt startling awake and grabbing the lecturer’s attention. “Something to add?” their lecturer goads, and Matt shifts in his chair, plays with his glasses, looks off to the side. 

“No sir.”

Shiro can see Matt glare at him out the corner of his eye, and his grin only widens. Payback for last week when Matt threw Shiro under the bus and saying he would cover his tutor class. There was only so much time of this stuff left anyway. Matt could throw little paper balls over his shoulder whenever the lecturer wasn’t looking just as much as he liked, but Shiro knew where his house was. Time to die.

When it finally clicks over to ten past eleven, they are freed from the lecturer’s knowing eyes. Matt takes full control of the moment, standing and spinning so fast, Shiro _almost_ misses receiving a book and pencil case to the face. He manages to cover himself, laughing and shaking pencil shavings out of his hair as Matt kicks him in the shins.

“You’re such a dick!”

“Good morning to you too, Mr Holt.”

Matt mumbles something that vaguely sounds like an insult Shiro wasn’t sure he wanted to get into, and starts picking up his stuff. Shiro does his absolute best to nudge most of it out of Matt’s reach, if only to incite more rage from the tiny man. This was totally brightening his day up, as he nearly tips the last of his stone cold coffee over. 

“Oh my god, Shiro! Just—”

“What’s the magic word?”

“Fuck off!”

Shiro feigns surprise, but returns the pencil case minus a pen. If anyone knew that Matt was so loud and crude, the possibility of scandal would be upon them! No one would ever believe Shiro, they both knew this, and Matt sticks out his tongue as he makes his way down the lecture theatre steps. Following behind, Shiro settles for tugging at the hood of Matt’s jacket, peering over his shoulder to see what he was typing into his tablet, sorely tempted to hoist Matt off the ground for smothering the screen.

“Go away!”

“You pegged me in the face with a pen. No way.”

“You deserved it.”

“Just you wait, Holt. You’re going to get it.”

“Bite me.” 

Had it not been for Matt running away as fast as he could when Shiro tugged him back, he might’ve actually screamed a little. But all Shiro gets is a book to the face and manic laughter, disappearing down one of the various winding staircases. Looking over the edge of the railing, Shiro catches sight of Matt disappearing into one of the branching hallways and sighs. Gone. 

Enjoy your freedom, Shiro thinks, and makes his way down to the floor where his next class was held. Hoping that maybe, possibly, they would reschedule for another day, Shiro slows down considerably, peering into other rooms to waste more time. 

And then, Shiro notes one of the psychology students lingering in the hallway. Strange to see them leave their _very_ exclusive building, and he would say something to Matt, or even Allura, had he not seen the former run with his legs between his tail and the latter returned home for the week. Shiro almost keeps walking, until he sees them by the pin board that covered a large amount of the hall. Very seriously, the girl carefully smoothed out the sheet as she worked, putting up several advertisements side by side.

Had it not been for how intent the girl had looked, Shiro would’ve been able to move on. But he waits until she leaves, drawing closer. Now he had to check it out — no one could blame him, surely, for being curious. Advanced Gravity and Theory could wait, because Shiro had a perfect attendance record and in big bold letters was an advertisement for some mundane student survey.

Dollar signs sat at the bottom, as if it was supposed to incite any interest. Maybe they were steadily realising all their students were broke and in desperate need of cash, finally. Despite not struggling too much, Shiro had to admit extra money would help, especially leading up to when he was going to head back to Japan. Weighing his options, he figures he could move a bit closer. No one else was in the hallway, so it wouldn’t look too bad to be caught debating whether he would throw himself into the psychology students’ clutches.

Brows raise immediately when he finally reads the advertisement.

 

**PAID RESEARCH OPPORTUNITY**

Romantic Couples Study

You and your partner are eligible to participate if you:

• Are in a committed, monogamous romantic relationship  
• Have been dating for at least six months  
• Are currently living together  
• Are both over the age of 18

 

Eyes fall to the bottom, where he reads the payment methods over once more. Cash in hand for in person interviews, electronic gift cards for online surveys. Well, he could get away with the online stuff. Faking IP addresses was nothing, and he imagined they wouldn’t do a cross check on how many couples there actually were on campus. Slightly less than the cash in hand. Shiro takes the little tag that had a number, email and web address, sliding it into his pocket with a sigh. The things he did for money.

Turning, deciding that he was now officially late enough to not be able to sneak into class but maybe get someone to open a window, Shiro stops. Kind of forgets to breathe. Feels his pulse race a little and his palms get a bit sweaty and maybe, _just maybe_ , squeaks out a “hey” when he notes who’s beside him.

With a blink, the not-so-strange-stranger turns to look at Shiro, head tilted just enough as a smile pulls at his lips. “Hey,” he says, and Shiro feels his ears burn when he returns the smile, despite himself. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> omg hi sry i didnt expect such a reaction immediately......... forgive me........ i will reply to ppl soon  
> also chapter word length is gonna go up and down continuously for how this is planned so i'm sry in advance


	3. Day 3

Standing in front of his fridge, Shiro decides he needs a hobby. Whilst the apple in his hand offers some mild distraction from big letters, bolder dollar symbols, his mind still wanders. Shiro thinks ‘hobby’, followed neatly with a rough idea of a dictionary meaning: _an activity done regularly in one’s leisure time for pleasure_. Regularly. His apple core meets the bin. Who has time to do something regularly?

But that was beside the point. His sudden need for a hobby stemmed from spending the last four days staring at the advertisement for dating that had ended up on his fridge, beside the little tag. Paid dating. No, that wasn’t right — and he was fairly sure that was something completely different. Payment was for interviews, already currently _in_ a (romantic) relationship. Shiro filled none of the requirements, apart from being over the age of eighteen. Truth be told, he didn’t remember the last time he had been in a relationship, let alone a _romantic_ one.

Needed to do something with his hands. Opting for twirling a pen, Shiro begins to pace once more. He had registered for several online profiles, thankful that Matt had introduced him to VPNs and supremely believable Western names. Whoever had designed the questionnaires hadn’t asked for student numbers, and that was a fault on their behalf. Currently, Krystal with a ‘K’ was suffering in her relationship with Brad, and Justyn  with a ‘y’ was very much in love with his partner Chris (Shiro was still baffled to this day that people had an obsession with the letter ‘y’, and was just as confused at how it was the first letter to be asked in a name).

So far, he had signed up four fake people, tallying up a nice amount of vouchers already. Inbox nicely full of gift cards. At least for a few nights he’d be able to get actual meat and vegetables, none of that frozen boxed shit. Matt would be so jealous.

And yet, Shiro had to digress. Go for a walk around the couch once more. 

It was the in person interviews he wanted to do. He could start adding more people to his roster to juggle through as far as fake people went, but cash was what he honestly could do with. Shiro twirls the pen again. No one would do it with him. Well, there was potentially three people he could ask. _Potentially_ being the key word.

With a sigh, Shiro’s forehead meets the paper of the advertisement, and he has to ask himself when he needed money so bad. Home, he tells himself, that’s why he was really considering this. Shiro wanted to go home. Grovelling and crying and kissing up to his entire family for the rest of his life, yes, but he missed _home_.

Just as his mood starts to dip, threatening a spiral that would have him curled up on the floor, there’s a knock. “It’s open,” he shouts, feeling himself start to slowly slide down the face of his fridge anyway, dragging the paper with him. Magnets fall, the door to his apartment opens. 

 _Allura_.

Back when he first moved over, the two of them had bonded over being completely out of their depths. Shiro was fresh of the boat and Allura was an army brat, to put it nicely. Her dad never lived in the one place for long and Shiro had never left his home town for more than a week. One language barrier, two home economic classes and three drunken escapades later, even Matt had to admit they were attached at the hip.

And that’s where Shiro finds Allura, crouching beside him, a finger pressed into his cheek. “Did you die again?” she asks, and it’s just one of _those_ things that doesn’t sound right. But that’s what happens when juggling upwards of three languages and still being expected to think and be whatever was used in that moment. Being home for Allura meant next to no English, as her family marched on with longevity and a language Shiro only knew a few phrases of. 

“I’m always dead. Dying. Ready to part from this life.”

A frown appears between Allura’s eyebrows, a question having her open her mouth. And yet Matt, master of time, walks in with several bags hanging from him arms, voice loud and obnoxious. “Did you talk to him yet?”

“Talk to who?” Allura asks, looking over her shoulder as Matt shuffles over to the counter, dumping his spoils on the bench. Instead of a response, Matt just whistles jauntily, pulling bottles and chips from bags. Was it Friday already? Shiro had to admit he had lost touch, kind of floating.

Remembering the smile, and how he felt warm all over.

“The guy he’s been in love with since he was like, seven.”

Spark of recognition appears in Allura’s eyes yet her lips still slide into a smirk, and she rests her chin in hand. Shiro did not like that face; that face was not his friend. “Oh, Keith that’s not a ‘Kee-su’.” Having long since gotten over the dig at his accent, the especially thick one he had first come over with, Shiro lets the jab slide. Just had to wonder when they would let the subject drop altogether — maybe in another life, if he was lucky.

“For the record, I wasn’t seven. I was like, _fifteen_.”

Allura pipes up that, always at the ready to fact-check him on his own goddamn life. “I thought you said you were seventeen?” 

Matt snorts. “It’s been like a decade regardless, and you’ve been pining over this guy since before you were born, basically.” A pause, for effect. “And you still haven’t said a full sentence to him.”

Shiro’s face twists into one of mild disgust, and Matt should have thought himself lucky he wasn’t any closer. One step to the right and Shiro would’ve made sure he landed ass first on the linoleum. “You’re making this sound like some Young Adult novel.”

“They’re _classics_.”

This time, it’s Allura’s turn to make a noise of disgust, and she does not hesitate in shoving Matt to the side. The advantage of being giants with a particularly small friend presents itself once again, as Matt stumbles and falls a little, only just managing to catch himself on the counter. Shiro is hoisted to his feet, and Matt preferred to call the action ‘looming’, but Shiro couldn’t help that when he stood beside Allura, looking down, they appeared that way. A remark about not drinking enough milk appears in Shiro’s mind, yet it’s passed over in favour of grabbing whatever chips were available and making his way to the couch.

“Just let it drop already.”

“Did you speak to him?”

“ _No!_ ”

“Are you going to?!”

Shiro hits the couch face first, only turning his head to the side before eventually rolling as he had crushed almost all the chips underneath him. In response, Allura sits on his side, and in a few hours he might be numb, but he made no move to throw her off. Matt takes his favourite chair, stage left of the television. 

“Shiro, you’re gonna graduate, and then—”

“Matt.” Finally Allura speaks up, and Shiro wants to thank her, had it not been for the air being squeezed out of his lungs when she shifted enough to get her legs on the couch. There’s a heel in the centre of his chest; Shiro resigns himself to his fate. After all, he’d never talk to _that guy_ , and that was that. 

“Takashi Shirogane, you are useless sometimes, you know that right?”

Allura slides off him, curled up like some kind of gremlin, and Shiro can breathe once again (damn). “If you’re going to use my full name, at least do it properly.”

“Details.” 

“Courtesy.” He doesn’t mind, not really, but it’s distraction. Matt wants to talk about Keith, a guy Shiro doesn’t want to discuss and regrets revealing, and Allura joins in because she can. For the most part it works, save for the pointed look Allura gives, because that girl is on another wavelength altogether, reading his mind some days.

Shiro just hugs her from behind, wrapped around her like the portable space heater she actually was, and feels himself begin to drift. They argue about the movie choice, or Matt spilling cola everywhere, or maybe about Shiro himself, but he doesn’t notice the specifics. Allura doesn’t move an inch, hand over his prosthetic. Turning his hand, they interlace fingers, and he honestly does drop off the planet for a good couple of hours only after.

When Shiro wakes, Allura had replaced herself with a pillow. There’s movement in the kitchen, someone using the sink, last parts of a movie playing. Buildings were exploding, Shiro can hear glasses placed on the drainer, just as a door clicks shut. 

“You off?” That was Allura speaking. They must have been by the front door. Shiro figures social convention would tell him that he should feel bad about falling asleep with guests over, but it wasn’t anything new. Rolling, so that he was completely on his back, Shiro blinks at the ceiling.

It was starting to get late.

“Dad needs me at the labs. It’s probably nothing but,” a pause accompanied by a grunt. The sounds of Matt landing on the floor awkwardly, “you — fucking hell — you know how he gets?”

“Need a hand?”

Sounds that vaguely reminded Shiro of the scuffing of soles against wood caused him to believe that Matt had fallen over at some point in an attempt to put his shoes on. That knowledge alone had him smile, and he pushes himself up just enough to see over the arm of the couch. He had been correct in his assumption, as Matt now had one hand against the wall, hoisting himself up. Allura was holding his bag from him, a grin on her face as Matt snatched it from her.

“Tell him I’ll be back to annoy him about Keith.”

“Shiro is probably aware of your intents, you know.”

Matt laughs then as the door opens. “Probably. Doesn’t mean he shouldn’t have a fair warning, right?”

Flopping back on the couch, Shiro has to roll his eyes. Any hopes of the topic being dropped were dashed, as did his eyelids when he finally heard the door shut. Might as well try to get another ten minutes in before Allura battled answers from him. Matt was easy to dodge when it came to questions, but Allura had this trick — always had a way to make it seem like it was Shiro’s idea to talk freely, when really she was pulling answers. Shiro wasn’t powerful enough to avoid the confrontation, and they both knew it.

“I know you’re awake.” So much for ten minutes. Faking a yawn, Shiro blinks a few times up at Allura’s face, having appeared over the back of the couch. But at her knowing look, his grin grows. The jig was definitely up.

“No one can sleep through Matt stomping,” he says, pushing himself up just enough. For such a small guy, he sure was the loudest out of the three of them.

Allura laughs, a small “true” leaving her. When she leans on the couch, Shiro is suddenly alert of Allura reaching towards him. Warily, he eyes her hand. And then, without any prompt, she flicks him in the middle of his forehead.

“Hey!” With a slap, Allura’s hand leaves his face, no longer posing a threat to his forehead. Rubbing the spot, even though the initial shock had quickly worn off, Shiro pouts.

“You tease me and then you abuse me. There are people who accept payment for this kind of relationship.”

“And you don’t?”

Oh, it’s that look on her face that has him worried. Squinting at Allura, he’s acutely aware of how one side of her mouth was curled up into something that could be called a smirk. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“I saw the advertisement, Shiro.”

 _Damn_. “They don’t pay you to be in a relationship, you know.”

“No, you would already have to be _in_ one.”

“For at least _six_ months.” Shiro throws on some emphasis, because they both knew that he was very, _very_ single. No one knew that more than Allura _and_ Matt (hence, the teasing when it came to Keith). “What’s your point, Allura?”

Having moved to completely sit up now, Shiro watches as Allura walks around the couch slowly, specifically. Takes up the other end of the two-seater, legs crossed at the ankles, hands placed gently in her lap. Allura takes a deep breath, before she turns to smile at him brilliantly. Shiro just falls back over the arm of the chair, his spine cracking loudly in the process, and he makes a loud groan. “It’s not what you think.”

“Then what is it?”

“Just doing it for gift cards to get food.”

“Uh huh.”

Shiro notes that he really needs to vacuum, now that he sees his apartment from this angle. Crossing his arms, he still refuses to sit properly. “Drop it.”

“Are you going to ask _him_?”

“Why would I do that?! I’ve never _spoken_ to him.” As everyone so kindly liked to remind him, sometimes.

“From what Matt was saying, you two ran into each other and—”

“I made a dick of myself and that was it.”

Finally, Allura falls silent. With that, Shiro manages to heave himself upright, back a little sore but nothing out of the ordinary — honestly, probably the first time in days he’s actually stretched, having been bent over his laptop for the past few days. But that was all beside the point, when Shiro meets Allura’s eyes, and feels his lower lip jut out into a pout.

With a slight growl in his voice, Shiro finally speaks up. “Don’t look at me like that.”

“Matt wasn’t wrong when he said you’ve been in love ‘since forever’.” The finger quotes were not appreciated, and neither was the shade thrown at his current love life. “Why don’t you just… talk to him?”

“You make it sound so easy.”

Allura’s turn to pout, although her’s is entirely mocking. Eventually, she leans towards him, no longer trying to be all proper and mighty, sprawling over his half of the couch like she owned the place. “I just want you to be happy, Shiro.”

“I am happy.”

A snort that Shiro overlooks for his own wellbeing. Picking up the remote to the television once more, Shiro flicks through his hard drive, picking something mildly scary and particularly gory to take both their minds off the situation at hand. “I am, Allura, even if you don’t believe it.”

“Mmhmm.” With a sigh, Shiro knew this would not be the last he heard of this situation — and more importantly, Keith.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> changed the format just a little but mostly unnoticeable.


	4. Day 101

Keith was uncomfortable.

Not necessarily a new feeling by any means, but it was definitely beating down the kind of want to drink that he was feeling. Maybe that was only because every other person around him was drinking too, long past the cake and presents part of the night. On that note, Keith was still surprised to see people giving gifts into their twenties, but in the corner of the room was a well guarded little pile of cards and boxes. 

Then again, that probably just had a lot to do with who the recipient of all this attention was. Sipping idly at the now warm beer, Keith found himself searching through the crowd just a little harder than before. It was all pretence, as to why he was even there. Nothing this loud would have caught his attention earlier, and he was _definitely_ one of the few younger people in the room. But Shiro had kept an arm on him almost all night, smiling away happily, deterring any feelings Keith had about being out of his depth.

Now. _Now_.

“Where are you, Shiro?” he mumbled to himself, eyes flicking to the stage, covered in balloons that made out the number six. An ironic joke, all things considered. Such a relevant number to the both of them, from the looks of it.

A particularly large balloon pops, after being knocked out of the way a little too hard, and there’s a yelp or two. Laughter quickly follows, not even the slightest hiccup in the way of music and joy. Keith can only think ‘fucking incredible’, before he finally pushes himself off the wall. Apparently he would have to be the one to find his—

Find his _boyfriend_. Grimacing into his beer at that, Keith still didn’t quite know how to process their situation beyond ‘it worked for the both of them’. And Keith didn’t know how many people knew the truth, really. He hadn’t told anyone he knew, and considering he knew next to no one, that helped. Shiro simply breezed through interactions with people and interviews with the students, picking up where Keith stammered out an answer like he had this planned to the letter. If Shiro did, he hadn’t told Keith. 

Ditching his empty bottle on a nearby table, Keith had done a full circle of the room, and hadn’t caught any evidence Shiro was even still amongst them. In his experience, people celebrating their birthdays didn’t skip out on it. Something about being the centre of attention, or something. Keith couldn’t even hold that against Shiro, considering just how personable he was. It was just so _Shiro_ to have so many people like him. It would not surprise Keith if Shiro had been voted ‘most likely to be world leader’ at one point, considering how people followed him almost without question. 

(Keith would need another hand to count the number of times he had witnessed Shiro be jumped with questions about classes _alone_ , and another two for everything outside. Amazing the man had so much energy)

As Keith kicks a balloon out of his way, about to make another round, he sees it. Fire exit open, leading to a stair case that went up and down. No one else had seemed to notice it, and if that wasn't such a romantic comedy sort of thing to miss. Rolling his eyes as he makes his way over, Keith had to wonder when Shiro would stop being full of Hollywood cliches, and actually go out with someone who _like_ liked him. Wasn’t in it to share funds and laugh over fake accounts of people struggling to deal with their partner’s incessant need for twenty cats. 

Shiro could assure Keith all he wanted that he was enjoying himself, but that didn’t mean Keith was sleeping any better at night. Stomach a little more full, sure, but if he didn’t hear Shiro playing the guitar on his balcony at night, and know that it should be someone else living next door, well. Wasn’t the first time Keith had considered moving out, since they signed all paperwork that they were both living in Shiro’s apartment anyway. 

And with the sheer amount of time Keith had spent inside Shiro’s apartment, he had almost forgotten the layout of his own. Another problem. 

Keith clambers up the stairs as loudly as he could, because he wasn’t going to do the quiet Hollywood creep, to find some person of his dreams looking all sad and sorry. No, Shiro was lying not too far from the roof entrance, staring up at the sky, smiling and with a couple of beers to keep him company. Stopping within arm’s reach, Keith crosses his arms, looking down at Shiro and,

Well,

“Hey, stranger,” Shiro laughs, all lopsided and goofy. He’s drunk. Drunker than Keith had seen, at least, which was saying something since Shiro kept to a three drink maximum no matter where he went. Whether that was because he was a lightweight or ridiculously responsible was still up for debate, at least for Keith, but birthdays were special. At least, that’s what all those posts on his social media kept on telling him.

Keith drops to a crouch, a finger jamming into Shiro’s ribs as he parrots back, “hey, stranger.” That earns a thousand watt smile, before Shiro stares up at the sky once more.

“Was wondering when you’d escape.” Well, if Keith wasn’t Mr. Predictable. At least he wasn’t the one who had made the first attempt today.

“I should be saying that to you. Isn’t it _your_ party?” He doesn’t know when he found himself a little closer on the floor, ass meeting cement and arms looped around knees. One day, Keith would wake up, and find that simply being near Shiro made him do some crazy, life changing things — like buying a new jacket. 

“ _Surprise_ party. Meaning I can surprise right out of it.”

“That’s not… how it works.”

Shiro nods, all sagely and wise. At least, that’s what Keith assumes, considering his eyes are shut now, and there is a momentary fear that Shiro would fall asleep on the roof. It was still pretty cool out at night, the threat of rain on the horizon. Sitting out on the roof was just asking for the classic run to cover in the rain kind of bullshit that happened more times than Keith could actually bother to count, and he didn’t want to imitate something so cheap. 

“I was gonna leave. Just gonna walk out the door.” The admission comes so unexpectedly, Keith gapes, trying to figure out what to say next. Short of pressing for answers, he simply resolves to snap his jaw shut, and raise a brow. Shiro still wasn’t looking, a very convincing sleeping face happening, but his cheek twitched, giving him away.

As if he was pressing for Keith to speak. So he settles for a question. “Why didn’t you?” Not the one he wanted to blurt out, but Keith figured it would work. Just to give something to remove the slightest amount of pressure building in him. Was it still discomfort? Not the old kind of uncomfortable that came with interacting, but the way he felt around Shiro. It was confusing, and Keith only had the one beer, albeit drunk very slowly over two hours, and Shiro was lazy happiness. Not feeling one inch of what Keith was. What a pair they made.

After a pause, Shiro cracks one eye open, and his eye glinted with something Keith couldn’t place. “I knew you would come find me.”

Snorting, Keith has to look away. This was getting a little into the dangerous, emotional conversation range that happened on old swing sets, under quilts with only a torch to light up the space between them. He didn’t _want_ that. “Am I that predictable?”

At least, he thought he didn’t want it. 

Shiro waves his hand a little. “Sometimes.”

“Huh.” Keith would have to do his very best to be unpredictable, it seemed. He would have thought agreeing to Shiro’s ridiculous get-rich-quick scheme would’ve been the height of it, but alas, _no._

Keith stretches out his legs finally, leaning back on his hands. “Are you gonna go back down?” Why his mouth was moving to make conversation, Keith didn’t know, but he sure as hell was cursing himself out a little.

“To the party? Nah.”

“Just gonna sit up here?”

“I’m _laying_ , technically.” There was a snicker, like Shiro was so proud of himself, and Keith finds a smile making it’s way onto his lips. His whole body was going against him. Shiro was a dangerous force of nature, without even meaning to be.

“ _Laying_ up here in the cold?”

And the man in nothing but a t-shirt and jeans replies with an airy “it’s not that bad.” Like Keith could forget the man was a personal heater, with that one time they actually had to share a bed. And the numerous times that Shiro just seemed to forget to wear articles of clothing around his apartment, shrugging off any and all comments. Keith had joked about a nudist colony once, and Shiro had grinned in that way that had Keith reconsider a lot of what he thought he knew.

“I’m glad you came tonight.”

Keith wants to shake him. _Stop catching me off guard_. A reminder to never let Shiro drink more than three whatever it was he was drinking tonight, because now he’s staring at him, eyes soft and wide and it’s too open. Too revealing. Keith knew. _Keith knew_. But he didn’t know if he could return. “To the party?”

“Yeah. Was afraid you would bail on me.”

“I wouldn’t do that.” To you. Keith doesn’t add those words on, those particular words, just because there’s a weight to them he’s not sure if he means. Doesn’t want it to be misinterpreted, taken apart, put back together. Keeps his tone neutral and his hands occupied with the fraying hem of his jeans (but his eyes don’t leave the dimple in Shiro’s left cheek, no matter how had he tries).

“You say that now.”

“Would you like me to promise?”

“Cross your heart?” His grin grows impossibly wider, dimple dipping deeper, humour all the way to his eyes and probably down to his toes. Keith doesn’t get it, how he can be like this, so easily. 

But he plays along, despite the inner thoughts telling him he’s such a _dick_. Makes a cross over his heart, eyes rolling at the whoop of laughter. “There. Happy now?”

“You have no idea.”

Too easily pleased. Keith wants to believe that Shiro was nearly as deep and hard to untangle as all the girls in his lab classes believed, but he was so open and bare. So hard to believe people missed all this, when Shiro smiled and laughed, genuinely, a hundred percent. His friend, the woman with the long hair, said something aside to him. Misjudging him. Even now, Keith didn’t believe it, and had to push himself up to stand. Move away from the situation before he got into something he really shouldn’t.

There’s no ancestor appearing from the clouds to tell him he was wrong to back away, and for the first time that night, Keith was absolutely thankful. 

Holding a hand out to Shiro, Keith heaves the bigger man to his feet. Forgot how much heavier he was, from time to time, and they both stumble a little, trying to get their footing. Shiro, because the ground was surely swaying underneath with how much he drunk. Keith, because he had been unprepared for the hand on his shoulder, the way Shiro’s face seemed to hover a bit closer to his than usual.

Keith had to focus on a spot on Shiro’s shoulder, to not look him in the eye. There were half lidded eyes, a slight parting of lips, breath fanning on his exposed skin. Step away, he tells himself. He’s drunk. Shiro doesn’t know what he’s doing. No matter how desperately Keith wants to believe that Shiro wasn’t himself, he had caught the looks. The signs. How it was _him_ , not _them_. I’m sorry, he thinks. I’m so, so _sorry_.

The first thing Keith does, is let go of Shiro’s hand. The second thing he does is sigh. 

It was too easy to believe that Shiro understood the intention, even as his grip on Keith’s shoulder lessened. Straightening, Shiro draws himself up to his full height, that exact hand eventually sliding around to hold Keith close against his side. It’s not particularly uncomfortable, the way that Shiro had his arm around Keith’s shoulders. Perhaps it would simply look like Keith was helping him walk down the stairs. Practiced his speech on the way down the fire escape (too many to drink, maybe a laugh that Shiro would chime in on, time to get him home). Counted each step until it seemed like there was at least three too many. 

An eternity stretched, and Keith thought of a dozen different romantic movies that had a scene like this one in there. Shiro pushed the door to the party back open, and Keith could only think of what luck he got, being in a tragedy of these lengths. 

Keith could only imagine how Shiro was feeling, as the crowd cheered for the _happy_ couple, celebrating Shiro’s birthday together. His friends. His life. And it was Keith’s time to shine on the big screen, waiting for the big reveal, to make the audience gasp and go ‘no! why?’. Only then, would he turn to Shiro, and, 

Well, 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> not so subtly updates.......... i'm sry i'm sry........ changed my mind about smth so had to figure how to work it out......... by e again


	5. Day 126

There was something aching in Shiro he had taken to ignoring, and he was getting very good at that. Sure, Allura would tell him that he should just be all about that communication and actually talk to Keith, but that wasn’t his style. No, Shiro was going to bottle up these feelings, maybe release them as punching bags at some ridiculous time in the morning, and cry into a tub of ice cream. That sounded far better and _healthier_ than talking about his ‘feelings’.

In fact, it’s what he was doing right at that moment. Balancing a litre tub on his leg, Shiro went between typing at his screen with one hand and taking scoops out of ice cream that tasted like cookie dough. And everything was _fine_ , there was no panic. In fact! He hadn’t thought about Keith in exactly thirteen minutes! A new record. He should text Allura about that fact.

“Shit.”

Shiro blinked at his screen, and then slumped over. Everything _hurt_. This wasn’t how it was supposed to go. They were only trying to make a few extra dollars to tie the both of them over, and that was that. He’d even promised himself that he wouldn’t develop feelings, and honestly Shiro was so proud of himself for so long. 

He had managed to hold out for so long, even with the shared beds and late night dinners and getting caught in the rain and all the romantic bullshit that had him melt.

But at the bonfire, he’d let himself just

**Stop.**

At that thought, Shiro scares himself as he slams his hands down on the desk. An automatic response to himself that was basically: Stop thinking about it! There was an essay due in the morning, and Shiro had done none of it because he’d been moping for nearly a week. Whatever was between them was over. It was _done_.

The plan was to hand in his last essay, and then he’d go back to Japan, and that was that! Never to see or hear of anything related to Keith again, and Shiro would remain blissfully unaware of his continued existence. Keith would become a vague thought that maybe happened every twenty years, nothing more. 

Goddammit, he wanted greasy food. Lots of it. Ice cream just wasn’t cutting it anymore. 

A quick text to Allura that he was heading down to the local fast food joint got him a response in record time. Of course she would join him — after all, who else would? Clicking his tongue, Shiro finds a hoodie that didn’t smell bad, pants that were actually his, and shoes that were still in one piece. And looks at the floor, seeing bits of Keith underneath all his other shit. Oh, god, they were really breaking up — and they weren’t even _together._ Shiro was going to have to box all this stuff up and return it. 

If anything, that singular thought depressed him more than he thought it would. The kind of sliding down the wall, using it as support, arms hugging knees to chest kind of thought. Honestly, he didn’t know what was worse at this point. This kind of feeling, where the guy he had liked for too many years being the way he was, or that if he just hadn’t been greedy, he wouldn’t be like this right now. 

Maybe if he’d just kept his mouth shut, not taken the advertisement, and continued on with his life, the music next door would still be playing. 

Allura texts him, a ‘get off the floor’ that does manage a laugh out of him. She’s psychic, and Shiro has known it his whole life. Hasn’t appreciated it much, except at that moment, when he’s got keys, wallet, cash, hood up. Doesn’t stay in the space between his and the next door neighbour’s landing too long, lest that incredible hearing pick up that he was lingering, _again_. Though he’d been warned off the bad habits, Shiro couldn’t help hanging out on the balcony despite being mad. Holding up a hand, about to knock at the door, and walking away in the end. Bad, bad habits.

Shiro walks, and the cool weather had managed to stave off to a still spring night. A little different, but a nice break from the bone chill they’d been experiencing for weeks. Hands shoved in his pockets, Shiro takes a left, then a right, plus one more, until he’s standing in front of the local (and probably only) fast food service in the town.

Not hesitating to push in, Shiro’s feet lead him to the far left of the doors, where Allura was curled up in their usual spot. A table number sat in front of her, and she was playing with metal rod, rolling it on the table. She hadn’t spotted him yet. 

Of course Shiro made the assumption she’d ordered for him, when he all but collapses in the chair opposite her. He was wrong, of course, but that didn’t stop him from grabbing the receipt on the table, reading it over. “Jesus, how many nuggets did you order?”

“Enough.”

“Enough for what?”

Allura looks at him. Shiro notices the significant bags under her eyes, how she seemed a little paler than usual. Even her nails were bitten down a little more than usual. Wisely, he chose not to comment, but man. She looked like _shit_ — and he thought he was having a rough time. 

“To drown in.”

“That’s vague and, uh, concerning? Wanna talk?”

She had a small habit, always been around, where when stressed enough but before she just let it all out, Allura would drag her hands from her eyebrows up, as if just pushing everything out. Most times, it was harmless, except when she did it hard enough to quite literally pull everything up with her, and pulled her hair back hard enough Shiro would consider slapping her hands away. 

“Allura, seriously—”

“Order twenty-six?”

“Hold that thought.” Allura holds up a finger at him, before scurrying off to grab her order. No, of course, she didn’t order for him (but he stole a handful of fries anyway once they were within reach).

At the sight and smell of food, Allura did seem to perk up a little more. After all, she started to slap Shiro’s hands away, which was always a good sign of energy. “Are you gonna tell me now?” Shiro asks, after finally managing to snatch a nugget away from the weary Allura. Not a good sign with how she glowered at him, a shot of energy she probably should’ve been reserving for other endeavours.

“Everything’s fine.”

It’s her dismissiveness that has him persist. “ _Liar_.”

“How’s the breakup going?” Only for Allura to flip it back on him like nobody’s business. 

“Did your dad ask you to go home again?”

“Did you borrow money from your mum again?”

“Are you back on again with what’s-his-face?”

There’s a pinch, somewhere in Allura’s face, that screws it up. Scrunches her nose and tightens her eyes, and Shiro knew he hit the nail on the head. “Allura… we talked about this.”

“But he’s just so damn _pretty_.”

“I know that’s the food talking. He’s not really.”

Finally, she smiles, if Shiro would go so far to call it that. More of a pull at the corners of her mouth to attempt a smile, really. Allura fiddled with the straw of her drink, looking anywhere but him. Shiro took it as a sign to probably order something to eat for himself, and pushed away from the table with a small sigh. Allura’s issues probably didn’t even begin to start with whatever-his-name actually was, or the fact that her dad had been outright begging her to go home once they graduate. 

A weird thought, so close to graduation. Shiro orders his food like clockwork, while his mind raced. Nearly half a year ago he’d been dragging his feet over the reality of it all, because — and to quote Allura — he was thinking with his dick. They’d joke about it, but that was honestly it. And now they were so close to leaving this place behind, Shiro didn’t quite know what he was supposed to do. Unless he got the offers that he hoped he would get… he would have to go home.

He doesn’t go back to sit down, receipt in hand and table number which made no sense, anyway. Waited by the side, watching how Allura went to scrolling through something on her phone, how the number of students was steadily increasing as the night went on. Almost ignored the cleared throat to the right of him, until he turned, brows raised. 

Before him stands someone he vaguely recognised. With a frown, Shiro could feel himself get defensive, like he should be expecting _something_ , but his number is called. Taking a moment to breathe, a thanks at the server, Shiro turns back. “Yes?”

Not the right question. There’s a moment where the man standing before him looked like he was going to crumble, before inhaling and pressing his hands together. Like he was thinking. Honestly, it threw Shiro for a loop, and he just wants to go back to his table. Shuffling out the way of the serving area, he’s followed, and Shiro can feel his irritation begin to spike. 

“Look, man, did you want something or…?” letting the question hang, Shiro balances tray on hip, and starts to eat the fries. He was getting hangry, and Allura had yet to make up a word for sad and hungry beyond depression. 

“Sorry, sorry. I figured you wouldn’t remember me, I mean, why would you?” 

If Shiro had a dollar for every time that sort of sentence actually pissed him off, he might’ve been able to not sign up for fake dating. “Sorry?” His mind was just chanting _food food food_.

Just as he goes to reply, Allura’s voice cuts through the place, coupled with enthusiastic waving. “Hunk?!”

“Allura?”

Shiro has to resist the urge to say his own name, but nudges Hunk (that he didn’t remember) in the direction of the table. “Get your food and come over.” And then he walks off, tray now firmly in his hands, weaving through the sudden burst of people. 

“Know him?”

“Uh, yeah? You should too, Shiro.” Allura actually looks more awake and alert, chin in hand, frowning at him intently however. He didn’t deserve that look at all. 

“What?”

Shaking her head, Allura mutters a ‘nothing’ and turns to face Hunk, who was making his way to their table. There’s some movement, Allura shifting her bag off the chair next to her, a drink nearly spilling at how Hunk just about drops the tray on the table, and Shiro receives a kick to the shins. No, he wants to tell Allura, leave me alone. _I’m trying to remember._  

Memory don’t fail me now, he thinks with a sigh. Shiro wanted to say that it wasn’t his fault, and that he had met more people in the last week, for interviews and fellow students needing help, and more than one official who had come to scope out the campus. Far too many people, that Shiro’s mind had just resulted to blanking on him — full capacity reached — and he had to settle for reading name badges and blindly shaking hands, hoping he got the department or job right.

“I didn’t expect to run into you here, Allura.”

Shiro watches the exchange closely, how Allura smiles, all warm and openly, now back to leaning on the table. “Same here. Don’t you have some thesis or paper to do, or a building to design?”

Hunk laughs, a little self-conscious, and nudges fries around. “Yeah, something like that. I’ve gotta have a sign off on a paper, actually, but I don’t know anyone who can do it.”

Allura looks at him immediately, and Shiro finds the ceiling so fascinating. Hunk, Hunk, _Hunk_. It was kind of familiar, the more he thought about it. A tutor session, back in the day? Maybe they had a class together, because from the way Allura was outright _gushing_ over Hunk’s work, he was in a lot of advanced classes at a young age. Or — and Shiro could feel a spike of dread hit him in the gut at the next thought — he was a friend of Keith’s. 

Absently, Shiro keeps an ear to the conversation. They were talking about space travel, which was kind of the point of their particular university, anyway, but also the possibility of aliens. Allura must have been running on next to no energy, as she really only entertained such conversations when drunk and convinced that the _X-Files_ were real. And honestly, from the way she spoke, it was like she was talking from firsthand experience. Shiro had told her to consider writing science-fiction, but then she’d hit him with that ‘is it really _fiction_ , though?’, and he never had a response for that.

Hunk was really into the conversation too. His energy was so infectious, Shiro actually felt himself calming down and chilling out. Smiling. A smaller part of him wanted to argue that this was the time to drown his sorrows in greasy food with Allura (who was equal parts determined to drown), but Hunk wouldn’t let them. Strange Shiro couldn’t really pick where they’d met before, because there was no way he’d forget a man like Hunk.

“Excuse me for a sec. I think that last milkshake is coming back to haunt me.”

Making a break for the bathroom, Shiro calls after Allura that he told her three was enough, but she’d always acted like any dairy was the greatest gift in her life. Which lead to overindulging, which would always lead to her being friends with the bathroom. Hit with the slightest amount of nostalgia over that fact that Allura hadn’t changed, Shiro didn’t want to delve into whether or not he had after all these years. That was just too much to think about, and would require another lot of nuggets, at least.

But her absence left Shiro with the knowledge he’d been extremely out of the conversation to know where to continue, and that he had no fries left to pick at. “So…”

Hunk fidgets, clearly just as uncomfortable with the sudden quiet. “Uh, nice to meet you again, sir. I’m not surprised you forgot me.”

“I didn’t—” Shiro stops, sighs, feels a small amount of heat in his cheeks. “Sorry. Been a long week.”

“It’s fine. You tutored me in first year, and we had advanced gravity theorem together.” 

 _Oh_. Shiro remembered Hunk — still relatively vaguely — but the more he stared the more he realised. Hunk was practically the lecturer’s favourite, without all the usual bullshit of trying to hide it. No one could deny it, however, just because Hunk absorbed everything thrown at them with such ease. Actually, now that Shiro though about it, he was pretty sure he still had some of Hunk’s notes on his floor somewhere. Either copies of the original or not, Shiro had been using Hunk’s work for a while now. 

He wasn’t going to say anything about _that_ , however.

Regardless, they had probably a minute to make it look like they were having a riveting conversation without Allura. Shiro didn’t want to talk about classes or assignments or his few attempts at tutoring, however. Right now, he was just trying to figure out where else he’d seen Hunk. 

Until Hunk just answers the question for him, looking mildly uncomfortable about the next words out of his mouth. “Have you spoken to Keith?”

Shiro doesn’t meant to frown and probably look like he was going to jump the table. He can feel his face just naturally slip into something probably a little too aggressive and angry, staring Hunk down. He _knew_ it. And he didn’t want to believe Hunk was sent here on some sort of mission to get information either. Hunk didn’t look the type of guy to get up at some time of the night that’s crossing over to morning just to get words out of Shiro.

Opening his mouth to reply, to say anything at all, Shiro was interrupted by the sudden return of Allura. Opportunity passing to press Hunk over his question of ‘why, what’s up with Keith?’, Shiro could only watch. Watch, how Hunk was still clearly visible, but starting up some excuses that he should probably go back to the dorms. Allura, insisting they catch up again soon, before graduation. And Shiro, stuck watching blankly how Hunk’s phone lights up in his hand, how eyes keep darting back to him, and how Allura turns on him once Hunk was out of earshot, asking what happened while she was gone.

Honestly? Shiro had no fucking clue.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been meaning to post this for a while but i'd like to thank janelle monae and make me feel being on repeat for the last few days and ending up being such a shiro song that fit this fic (and just imaging him in those rose pants just. mmm) and for season 5 coming out for my ass


	6. Day 23

Beside him stood a very familiar figure, one that Shiro had only met a handful of times in his life, and spoken to even less. But that was more than enough to cut an impression so deep, that he lingered on those interactions for days on end. And maybe that was a little obsessive, but Shiro couldn’t help himself (and it definitely didn’t help that Matt continued to bring him up at every convenient moment, either). One day, he’d worry about the specifics, and the critical eye sent his way from Allura, but right now, that didn’t matter.

Everything about ‘the mystery junior’, as they had all taken to calling him even after learning his name and rough age, was so oddly fascinating. Simple and focused, as Shiro could recall from assisting in a gravity class one time, a couple of years ago. Whilst the class scarred him for life, and Shiro had never let his friend forget how he’d taken over it — even when Shiro was just as hungover — Keith asked all the right questions, did all the right work, and was the least offensive student in the class. Which was ridiculous, because all those students were terrifying, most fresh out of high school, loaded with questions that Shiro had not been in the right state of mind to deal with. Especially not about the effects of gravity on sex.

Shiro almost choked on his beer at that thought. As if he could remember that one specific question, now, of all times.

Keith leaned against the pool table, so carelessly with his hip against the wood, had Shiro not been acutely aware of his entire person, he might’ve just looked like a permanent fixture. Recalling a few details, should conversation become a thing, Shiro continued to line up his shot. Keith, advanced pilot program, single.

Knocks the five into the far left hole. Keith, broken three of Shiro’s records on official flight simulators, and one at the local dive.

Barely nudges the seven next, and Shiro recalls that it was this particular bar, where Keith smashed his record. There had been bets placed, crowds formed, a hush falling over the crowd. Keith had done a perfect roll and recovery, not the slightest showings of nerves on his face. Even as HIGH SCORE flashed on the screen, and the mixed boos and cheers filled the air, Shiro remembered remaining stationary, rooted to the ground.

Not because his score was finally gone, after holding strong for two good years. Not because of the slaps on his back, the ‘bad luck, Shiro!’s that filled his ears. And definitely not because his drink went missing, as did a twenty from his wallet.

No, no. Shiro couldn’t find it in himself to move, as Keith had finally let a breath out that he seemed to have been holding in for far too long. Brushed his brow, flexed his fingers. Smiled, definitely to himself, and finally kicked himself out of the game. It was silly, to consider love at first sight, considering Shiro still remembered the way he’d said ‘hey’, all those years before, in that gravity class. Looking up under his lashes, eyes the most peculiar shade.

But Shiro remembered the exact moment Keith had stepped out of the simulator, stretching his arms above his head, and smiled so assuredly at him. A little too close for comfort, passing through Shiro’s personal bubble like there was no wall there at all. And then he’d said “sorry about that. A friend owes me a drink.” Then he was lost to the crowd, never again.

That was last year. Last year when Shiro had to wait for his heart to stop beating so fast, and for his cheeks to finally return to a normal shade. Where he covered up everything, and went to bed the next morning, thinking of the way Keith’s smile dimpled.

“Haven’t seen you here since last year.” Finally, Shiro can get some words in, if only because he had to actually edge around Keith to line up his next shot. Maybe this was a ploy from Justin in Engineering, to sic Keith on him. Get him distracted (only because Justin owed Shiro a lot of money from bets, and he would do anything to not have to pay a cent).

“Since I broke your record, you mean?”

Cockiness. That’s what his tone stunk of. Shiro wasn’t immune to the challenge, not at all. There, under the words. Last year he said that it was because a friend would buy him a drink if he broke the record — and really? _Only_ one drink? This year it could’ve been anything, which just added to the casual mystery of Keith.

Keith, kicked out of a previous flight school for insubordination. Good behaviour got him a position here, and maybe because he was one of the best damn naturals anyone had seen in a long time. _That_ , Shiro could admit to freely.

Shiro cleans up the pool table in seconds, watching Justin crumble in the background. Another hundred to go to food for the week. “Yeah, that may have been the occasion.” Or at least using a chunk of it now to buy Keith a drink.

Handing over his cue to whoever was up next, and taking the cash with a ‘good doing business with you’, Shiro notes how Keith follows. They hadn’t had a full conversation. At all. Ever. And this was doing something to Shiro’s feelings, just being so close that he could see those eyes in vivid technicolour all over again.

Justin was practically crying in the background. Keith frowns a little at the situation. With a shrug, Shiro hails down for beers, times two, and focuses on the rim of the bottle. “He gets it into his head he’ll win one day.” Shiro pauses, maybe for effect, maybe because his throat was going dry, watching Keith swallow. “He’s lost every time to me for five years.” That wasn’t a brag, it was just a fact. If Shiro really wanted to lay into Justin, and claim every dollar that he was owed, the guy probably wouldn’t be attending university anymore.

Except something in Keith’s eye sparks at that. “Good for you, then?”

Keith takes another swig, unable to hide the way his mouth curls at the taste. Taking a chance, and a little bit of liquid luck, Shiro goes for it. The definitive and always encouraging ‘fuck it’ going through his head. “Definitely good for me. Means I can buy a beer or two for someone besides myself.”

Lets those words settle over them, as he flags down a refill. So warm, all over, and now it was becoming a mix of alcohol and attraction. God, he was so hopeless. Allura would’ve been beside herself with laughter at this. On some level, he actually had hoped she would’ve joined him, if only to play wingman (because, despite everything, Allura was the best damn wingman he’d ever had). And then he could’ve helped her get over whatever-his-pretty-face was, and the night would go so smooth.

Keith fingers the condensation running down his bottle. _So smooth_. “Willing to place a bet?” Not the answer he was expecting, but Shiro took it in his stride. He was definitely coming on a little strong. Tone it down, Takashi, he tells himself. Down boy.

“Depends on what it is. Even I have my limits, and it’s the fifty left in my wallet.” Never mind that sober him was smart enough to squirrel away at least twenty, _just in case_. Shiro would thank Sober Shiro in the morning.

A little chuckle leaves Keith, and Shiro wanted to wax poetry over such a soft noise. He was being disgustingly obtuse, but it wasn’t his fault that whenever his gaze fell on Keith, everything went rose-coloured. Complete with a cherubs flying over with little heart shaped arrows, and petals falling from the sky.

This is the _first_ conversation. Firmly reminds himself of that fact. Don’t blow it.

“I’m not after money, trust me. Gloating rights are more than enough.”

Shiro is slightly taken aback by that admission, with how Keith’s smirk says more underneath than he could decipher at that moment. Not that he knew anything in particular about Keith, beyond what was on his file, and what those in his classes had spilled. Mild mannered, at the very least, with how he spoke in that one gravity class. Potentially a little egotistic due to being the top pilot of his year, but a little ego was never a problem. But ‘gloating rights’? That was more of a line attested to, sure, those in classes below Shiro himself, but more so those in his own year, especially those with a _problem_.

With a frown, Shiro notes how the expression on Keith’s face flickers, uncertainty slipping in when least expected. Now, Shiro couldn’t say he was a paramount example of reading people, but it came in handy sometimes in his line of work. And right now? With how Keith immediately broke eye contact? Something was up. Something fishy.

Naturally, the part of him that was head over heels for Keith thought he was just acting to get Shiro’s attention. And it was working, on some molecular level. Shiro always had a thing for bossy people — what that said about him he really didn’t want to delve into. But that was all beside the point, as Keith turned to scull his drink, as if to drown out whatever it was he was feeling.

Was that an admission of regret?

“‘Gloating rights’, huh?” Finally, Shiro speaks, brow raised as he judges the dregs of his beer. He would’ve thought last year was enough. No, something was definitely going on. “Alright. Simulator, winner gets…” and he trails off.

What did the winner get? From the way Keith was staring at him, brows drawn together in question, Shiro realised he didn’t have an answer to that. Not completely.

Until it’s like a hallelujah opens up, a beam of light striking the noticeboard. There, in bold. Payment for interviews. _Romantic Couples Study._ No. Yes. Shiro felt his skin crawl at the sleazy suggestion, and had to force himself to look away. Nope, definitely not. He’d already had this conversation with Allura for the last week alone, since he’d first picked it up. Accumulated a few more online profiles, played the part of a Jackson and an Anastasia and a Morgan. In person interviews were written off anyway, seeing as Matt wouldn’t be able to keep a straight face, and Allura had already said ‘not in this lifetime’.

Maybe he would just settle on something that said ‘easy’ and get it over with. Tab on the bar? Sure, whatever. Year’s worth of nuggets? Also doable, and mildly looked forward to. Shiro opened his mouth to continue his sentence, when Keith cuts him off.

Pointing his finger at a spot Shiro could see in his mind’s eye, Keith doesn’t hesitate. “That.”

_Oh no_. It seemed that the situation was taking an unexpected turn, and Shiro didn’t know how to proceed, beyond freezing in place. At the look on Keith’s face, he finally turns around, trying to appear the picture of indifference, despite the internal meltdown. No way, _nowaynowaynoway_. Sure, they’d looked at the advertisement together little over three weeks ago now — Shiro could remember date, time, weather — but that was just a thing. That happened.

It didn’t mean anything.

“That?” he presses, hitching a thumb over his shoulder once he’d turned back. Lord help me.

Apparently Keith didn’t know what overcame him, as his pointed finger seemed to falter. “Yeah—yeah, that. Cash in hand for fake interviews.”

_I know what happens. “_ Really? That’s a strange way to do things.” Well done, Takashi, keep up the indifference. It was only him and his mind encouraging him, and not letting him shatter the bottle in his hand from nerves, concern, maybe a bit of fear.

“I guess. Good way to get people in, and they don’t check everyone out on campus to make sure they’re telling the truth.”

Shiro has to bite his tongue from asking how he knew that, why he knew that, and who he asked. And he thought he had been bad, fussing over a small advertisement for days on end, before screwing it up and throwing it in the bin. He unrolled it later, of course, because it had the links on it, but that was beside the point. It wasn’t going to happen. It wasn’t _supposed_ to happen.

The universe had it out for him. Was it because he narrowly missed that car that day? Or when he crashed, all those years ago.

“You seriously want to do it? _Fake_ dating.”

“For money.”

“For money,” Shiro echoes, because it sounds worse out loud. He’d probably done worse things, surely (he couldn’t list one thing).

It was truly amazing that neither of them had bailed on the subject yet, or just in general. Keith looked ready to hit his flight response, and Shiro could feel a supreme sense of dread overcoming him, like a sense of foreboding. Nothing was right in this situation. This wasn’t how things were supposed to go, especially not in the soap drama that was his daydreams. There was a very specific method to follow, complete with flowers and a date and—

Oh. Fuck it. Fuck it all.

Sticking out his hand, Shiro watched as Keith took in the prosthetic. Hoped he knew what he was getting himself into. A bitter thought. “Deal.”

Keith’s hand slides into his own, like they had known each other for years. Strange sentiment to even consider, and Shiro forces himself to not linger on it. “Deal,” he repeats, voice firmer and more assured than it had been all night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HAPPY 20GAYTEEN I CANT BELIEVE SHEITH IS ALIVE AND CANON THIS IS A BLESSED YEAR!!!!!!
> 
> i rly want to get the next chapter up asap its a direct following of this one aka the next day technically sO pray for me. in between all my hw and exams i NEED to get this up lmfao


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